The Last Hurrah
by Band-Potter-Geek
Summary: Summary: When Harry attempts to kill himself after the final battle, things change. New lines are drawn in the wizarding world and old ones are erased. Once they move to America, they find themselves once more on the brink of war . . .
1. Prologue: The Escape

The Last Hurrah

A/N: Complete summary: When Harry attempts to kill himself after the final battle, things change. New lines are drawn in the wizarding world and old ones are erased. Hermione and Ron, finally a couple, are left to pick up the pieces of their shattered friend once they move to America in order to separate themselves from the memories. But a legendary evil is rising again, and this time, Hermione is caught betwixt and between because of a prophecy. In their final year of schooling, not everything is as it seems, and the lines between love and hate have become too blurred for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to hold on . . .

Prologue: the Escape

Harry stood alone after the battle, watching the dead be carried into a tent, some in pieces. He knew most of them, had known a few well enough to have had them tell him their hopes and dreams. The same hopes and dreams were now cutting him into pieces. Each person's plans for the future were now cutting him into ribbons of despair.

He hadn't slept for a week. Perhaps it was this that made him consider seriously something he had only ever known in the abstract.

He was sitting on the edge of the Astronomy Tower. He had found himself drawn up here once Hermione and Ron had left for some alone time. He had a feeling he knew just what that reason was. He didn't begrudge them in the least for their time together.

With one last look at the vibrant green grass below, he turned, hopped off, and walked to his dormitory.

***

The next night found him in the same place, as did the night after that, and the one after that. He was spending most of his free time on the Astronomy Tower nowadays, something he saw fit to not tell anyone. He was afraid that once he told somebody, they would take it away. And he didn't want that. He believed he thought better in the open air.

What better way to die? he thought grimly, then shook himself. He had just completed a task that had been his for years. He wanted to enjoy a peaceful, Voldemort-free existence.

Didn't he?

***

As was becoming customary, he found himself on the Astronomy Tower again. He had been thinking over the past day, and he found that he really wanted something different than everyone else.

With a cry that was both joy and despair, he pushed himself over the edge.


	2. Chapter 2

_Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . ._

_Well, that's annoying_, Harry thought with a small grimace. What was it?

_Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . ._

_Why won't it shut up?_ he thought, irritated. _The only way to know,_ he reasoned, _is to open my eyes_. When he did, he almost wished he had kept them closed.

"_Harry!" _Hermione cried, throwing herself on top of him. "Oh, Harry we were so worried when we heard you'd fallen! How do you feel? Do you need anything? What about-?"

"Let him answer, Hermione," Ron said good-naturedly. "The first thing a bloke wants to hear just after he comes out of a coma is not 'How do you feel?' The first thing is, 'What happened and how did I get here?'"

"Right in one, Ron," Harry said, looking around the bare room. "So what did happen?"

"You fell off the Astronomy Tower, mate," Ron said seriously. "Ginny went spare. Pomfrey had to sedate her."

"Oh, no," Harry breathed.

"Oh, yes," he said, his face grim. "You almost died three different times. Your spleen will never be the same, and there was quite a bit of internal bleeding."

"I was so scared!" Hermione cried. "Oh, Harry . . . !" She took a moment to compose herself. "Once you fell," she said, apparently deciding to tell him what had happened, "A bunch of people ran over. You must have screamed, because people were there before you hit the ground. If they hadn't been there, you would have died."

"Right," Harry said vaguely, trying to take it all in. "How long was I out?"

"More than a week," Ron said. He was, Harry noted, much paler than he had been. So was Hermione. "We should call one of the nurses, I think."

"Nurses?" Harry asked, and his voice cracked embarrassingly on the word. "Where am I?"

Hermione answered as Ron opened the door. "You're in St. Mungo's, Harry."

"Mungo's?"

"Yes, Harry, St. Mungo's. Now just calm down. The nurses have to call a Healer-in all honesty, nobody was really sure what you would be like when you first woke up. For all we knew, you'd be brain-dead."

"Right," Harry said, just now starting to get a grip on what was happening around him. Something that had been said earlier caught his attention. "I fell off the Astronomy Tower?"

"Yes, Harry, and it's a good thing people were there, or you would have died, because all of them put a Cushioning Charm on you."

"A good thing, too," a new voice intoned. Looking at the door, they saw a Healer in green robes standing in the doorway. Over his breast was an embroidering of a crossed wand and bone. "Otherwise you would be just a big splatter of guts and blood by now."

Hermione winced; Harry smiled at his openness.

"I'm Healer Hinter, by the way," he added. "And you are the famous Harry Potter." Harry nodded, disturbed in a twistedly comforting way. "Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, if I could have a few moments alone with your friend?" The two left, Hermione kissing his forehead beforehand. Ron smiled at him, and then they were gone.

"Now, Mister Potter," Hinter said, "would you like to tell me why you tried to kill yourself?"

"What? I didn't try to kill myself!"

"Mr. Potter, the Astronomy Tower is warded to prevent accidental deaths. It is _not_ warded to prevent suicides. So, again: why did you try to kill yourself?"

"I don't know," Harry mumbled. "My job was over."

"Your job?"

"Killing Voldemort."

"Why did you think that was your job?" At Harry's raised eyebrow, he admitted, "Stupid question. Let's try this one: why did this job mean enough that it was your sole purpose for living?"

"I've been fighting him for seven years. I just finished it. I have nothing to do now." His answer sounded hollow, even to him. After a pause, the interrogation went on.

He was asked questions that seemed to have no bearing at all on his mental state, including his favorite color and least favorite dessert. He was even asked what size gloves he wore.

"I think that is enough," Hinter said finally. "Are you planning to let your friends know?" Harry shook his head vehemently.

"According to law," he said, "I must disclose health information to the closest adults. Those would be your friends-unless you want a teacher to know?"

"No," he said heavily. "I guess Hermione and Ron would take it well enough."

"All right, then."


	3. The Train Ride

"Oh, Harry!"

Harry sighed. He had known those would be the first words out of Hermione's mouth.

"Blimey, mate, why?" That had been his prediction to Ron's response, too, and he wondered if he was clairvoyant or if he just knew them too well.

"My job was over," he said patiently. "I had nothing left to do-you, of all people, should know I need to do something concrete or I'll explode."

"Well, yes, but still, Harry-"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, "I accept that you will never be able to understand. I know you'll never get what it's like to be chasing something that seems unattainable for years, and when you finally get it, it's not as great as you though it was. I know that. Please, just-I know it was stupid." He turned to look out the window. "Have you ever gotten the feeling that not everything is as good as it seems?" he asked.

"Of course we have, Harry," Hermione answered.

Harry nodded in confirmation. "That's all I needed to hear."

* * *

"Harry, Hermione, come on! We'll miss the train!"

Harry sighed. He had spent most of the summer rebuilding the castle with his friends and teachers; during that time, he had realized that going back there would be a nightmare. Still, though, he was determined to finish his education-he didn't want to become an Auror riding on the coattails of his success. He didn't know most of the seventh-year spells, even if he had learned more advanced ones during the previous year.

Hermione, too, was thoughtful. She had gone to Australia to fetch her parents. They had gone ballistic when she'd restored their memories and admitted what she'd done. They had almost disowned her before they calmed down and admitted it was probably for the best-though they'd stayed in Australia. They'd grown fond of the sun and heat of the summer, they claimed.

Ron, meanwhile, was worrying about some of the things Harry was. He was the one who had told them to hurry, though his heart wasn't in it. A spell had damaged his leg, and he walked with a limp and a cane now. The Healers said he might be able to walk without a cane-eventually. As a result, he was ready to go faster than ever before, knowing if he didn't get there early his slowness might make him miss the train altogether.

The three of them made it onto the train nearly ten minutes before it pulled out of the station. They spent the time talking and laughing together, discussing the summer and dissecting the spells they would need to learn this year.

Once they had done what they could to rebuild the castle, the three of them had moved into the Grimmauld Place house. There, they had restarted the refurbishing and cleaning process; the Death Eaters had ransacked the house, making it nearly uninhabitable. With Dobby's help, they had redone the house (most of it, anyway) over the summer. All they needed to do was clean out the attic. They'd even found a way to get rid of Walburga Black's portrait-they had torn the wall down.

"I think we still need some posters for the walls," Harry commented. "It seemed a bit drab, still, when we left."

"The Memorial Room, too," Ron added. "That needs a bit more work."

"Don't forget the kitchen," Hermione reminded them. "The wall needs to be replaced-or we can just make it into a bigger kitchen, your choice, Harry."

"I like the bigger kitchen," Harry said thoughtfully. "When we all have kids, and everyone comes over for dinner, not even that much space might hold them all!"

Once the laughter died down, Ron said, "So you and Ginny are definitely thinking of kids, then?"

Harry sighed. "I was talking more about you two. Things have been awkward between us recently."

"Just keep talking," Hermione advised. "She was crushed when you broke up with her, even if she understands why you did it."

"I know, Hermione," Harry said. "I just wish . . ."

"I know, mate," Ron said. "You want two-point-seven kids."

"Little more than that, actually," Harry said wistfully. "I'd like to raise a whole Quidditch team. I just hope Ginny wants to. Scratch that, I just hope Ginny will take me back."

"She will," Hermione assured him. "She understands."

"I hope so," Harry grumbled.

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances. "Have either of you looked through this year's texts, then?" Hermione said briskly, trying to pull Harry from his funk.

It worked: Harry laughed. "Why, when we have you to tell us what they say?"

"Oh, honestly," Hermione complained jokingly. "Is that why you two never bothered to read _Hogwarts, A History_, then?"

"Yep," Ron and Harry said together. Their lighthearted laughter filled the compartment and swelled into the hallway, attracting some of their friends.

"Hey, Harry, Hermione, Ron! Have a good summer?"

"'Course," Ron answered. "You?"

"It was all right," Neville said, then swelled with pride. "Gran actually said she was proud of me!"

"Good for you, Neville," Harry said, smiling at his friend. "You've been doing loads better in classes since you got your own wand."

"Neville, why are you here?" Hermione asked.

"What?"

"You came for your seventh year last year," Hermione said, a crease in her brow-the same crease she always got when she was trying to figure something out.

"You think they taught us anything useful last year?" Neville asked. "They taught us how to torture, how to kill, and how to hide. Defense class turned into Dark Arts class."

"Sorry, Neville," Harry said guiltily.

"Not your fault, Harry," Neville said dismissively. "It's all in the past."

"Still, it must have been horrible," Hermione said.

"I still wake up screaming sometimes," Neville admitted. "Still, though, can't change it now."

"When did you turn into a philosopher, Neville?" Ron teased, getting a round of laughs. Harry started coughing badly.

Hermione crossed to her bag and rummaged around, finally pulling a flask of lurid pink potion from her bag. She held it to Harry's lips, knowing he was shaking too hard to hold it himself. He drank, and Hermione pulled it away after a second. "All right there, Harry?"

"Thanks," he gasped.

"We're all different now," Neville said sadly. "You've all gotten-darker, somehow. Not as happy as you used to be."

"War does that, Neville," Hermione murmured. "It changes things. We won't ever be the same."

the somber mood was interrupted by Luna's dreamy entrance. "Hello, everyone," she said.

"Luna!" Neville said warmly. "Pull up a cushion."

"It's getting crowded in here," Hermione said, then pulled out her wand. With a complicated swishing pattern, she enlarged the compartment.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," Harry joked.

"You never will, Harry," she said fondly. "Luna, how was your holiday?"

"It was all right," she said dreamily. "Daddy and I went looking for a Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

"That's nice, Luna," Hermione said.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" she said vaguely.

Over the course of the train ride, they had many more visitors: their fellow seventh-years (or eighth-years, depending on how you looked at it), DA members, people they barely knew who dropped by to congratulate them or say hi.

Only one person they didn't know showed up, about halfway through the train ride. A small boy, looking about eleven, slid open the compartment door. "My compartment kicked me out," he said sadly. "Mind if I sit with you? I won't interrupt or anything, promise, I just-"

"Of course you can sit with us," Harry interrupted. He couldn't say no to someone who looked so miserable. "What's your name?"

"Ian Killaby," he said quietly.

"Well, Ian, my name's Harry. These are Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna," he said, pointing to each one in turn. "Which year are you in, Ian?"

"First," he whispered.

"First? Well, Ian, I hope your first year is nowhere near as exciting as mine was," Harry said.

"Why?" Ian asked, looking curious.

"Ron? Hermione? Want to help me tell the story? Neville, you were here for parts of it, too, so let me know if anything gets left out."

"All right," Ron said, answering for them all.

"Well, Ian, it all started when Dumbledore-former Headmaster, one of the best men I've ever known-announced that the third-floor corridor was out-of-bounds-"

"Except to people who wished to die a horrible, painful death," Neville put in with a grin.

"Right. So, as I was saying . . ."

They were up to the troll cornering Hermione in the girl's bathroom when the trolley witch came through the halls. "Anything, dears?" she asked.

"Who wants what?" Harry asked. "Ian?"

"Er-"he began.

"Let me guess-Muggle-born?" Harry asked. "Or Muggle-raised, at least?"

Ian nodded. "That's why they kicked me out of my compartment."

Harry's jaw tightened. "I hate people like that," he muttered. "There's still time for them to change." HE went out into the hallway and bought two of everything for them all to share-except for the chocolate frogs. Those he bought thirty of, knowing Ron would eat most of them and that Ian would enjoy them.

"Those aren't-real frogs, are they?" he asked anxiously.

Neville laughed. "Just a spell," he said. "You really think we'd eat chocolate-covered frogs?"

"I've eaten chocolate-covered crickets before," Ian said. Everyone stopped and stared at him.

"Really?" Ron said at last.

"Yeah. Tasted like Crunch bars."

"What's a Crunch bar?" Ron asked.

Hermione sighed. "Forgive them," she told Ian. "They're both purebloods." She turned to the older boys and began to explain.

"What's a pureblood?" Ian whispered.

"Someone who has only witches and wizards in their family on both sides for at least-er-twenty generations, I think."

"Twenty-five," Hermione said over her shoulder.

"There you are, then," Harry said pleasantly. "Twenty-five generations."

"If they're purebloods, then why-?"

"Are they sitting with us?" Harry asked, anticipating the question. "Not all purebloods are obsessed with blood purity, Ian. Some-like the Weasleys and Longbottoms, their families-are what pureblooded bigots call blood traitors. It means they don't put stock in the purity of blood."

"Oh."

"Ian, there will always be people trying to put you down because you're Muggle-born. We recently fought a war over just this very thing."

"Really?"

"Really. We'll explain it all to you when you have a working knowledge of the Wizarding world-for now, accept that we all were important soldiers, and we all bear the scars still."

"They let kids be soldiers?" Ian whispered.

The compartment's occupants burst into raucous laughter. Ron wiped tears from his eyes and said, "Ian, we didn't give them a choice in the matter."

"What do you-?"

"You'll need to hear the rest of the stories first, Ian," Hermione said. "Then you'll understand."

"Okay," he said.

"Where were we?" Harry asked, opening a chocolate frog. "Right, the troll had just trapped Hermione in the bathroom. See-" he broke off abruptly, staring at the card in his hand.

"Harry?" Hermione prompted. "Do you need your potion?"

"No-just-look!" he said. They crowded around him to look at the card.

Neville Longbottom, it read in curly script under the picture. Neville was holding the sword of Gryffindor in his hand while charging toward the bubble that held Nagini. Neville was trembling as he reached out to flip the card over.

_Neville Longbottom is well-known for his participation in the Final Battle of Hogwarts. He is also known among his classmates for his love of plants; indeed, his contribution to the final battle was throwing Devil's Snare, a particularly nasty breed of Constricting Vine, at the Death Eaters, reducing the numbers greatly. An original member of Dumbledore's Army,a student-run defense group, Neville hopes to become a herbologist when he graduates._

_Number Five in the Heroes of Hogwarts series._

"Good for you, Neville,"Harry said.

"Wow," Neville mouthed, though no sound came out.

"Hey! Hermione, they've got you, too!" Ron said.

"And you!" she called back. "Listen to this!

"_Ronald Weasley is well-known for his friendship with Harry Potter, for his participation in the Final Battle of Hogwarts, and for being an original member of Dumbledore's Army. He is also known for his love of chess and for his strategic skills. For the year leading up to the Final Battle of Hogwarts, he was on a shadowy mission to make He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named mortal-_Oh, that's rich, he'd dead and they can't even say his name-_and succeeded. He hopes to become either an Auror or a Quidditch player when he graduates. Number three in the Heroes of Hogwarts Series. _Well, at least they got most of it right."

"Listen to yours, Hermione," Ron said dryly. "_Hermione Granger is well-known-_can't they get another opening?-_for her friendship with Harry Potter, for her work on SPEW, for her participation in the Final Battle of Hogwarts, and for being an original member of Dumbledore's Army. For the year preceding the Final Battle of Hogwarts, she was on a shadowy mission to restore You-Know-Who to mortality, and succeeded. She has not yet figured out what she hopes to become, but she will change the world with her political capita and understanding of both Magical and Muggle worlds. Number two in the Heroes of Hgwarts Series." _He stopped and looked at her. "What's political capita?" he asked her.

"Political capita is influence," she explained.

"The train will be arriving in ten minutes," a cool voice announced.

"Oh! We had better get changed! Harry, don't forget your badge-" Hermione started.

"Don't forget yours, Head Girl," he shot back. "Why was there no meeting this year?"

"McGonagall said she'd go over everything in the castle."

"Right."

"We'll see you later," Neville said with a wave. Ian pulled his clothes from his trunk and went to the bathroom to change. Harry, Ron, and Hermione shucked their clothes and began to pull on their school uniform.

Hermione began to giggle. "Imagine what this would look like to somebody if they walked in right now!" she said.

"We've spent a year in the same small tent," Harry said. "It's not like we've never seen each other before."

"I know, it's just that it would look weird to anyone who came in right now."

"Who cares?" Ron asked. "We know the truth, and that's all that matters."


	4. The Beginning of the Year

"Killaby, Ian!"

Harry looked up at the mention of his young friend's name, squeaked in true Flitwick fashion. Ian walked forward, looking terrified.

The Hat stayed on his head for almost five minutes before finally shouting, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Gryffindor House gained twenty new students, the equal of the other Houses combined. Harry imagined he could already feel the walls of the Tower getting smaller.

"Welcome, students," McGonagall began."The true speech will come after dinner; dig in!" She sat down as food overflowed the tables.

"Potatoes, Marcy?" Harry asked the first-year girl who was sitting near him. The eight-years and seventh-years were all sitting near the Head Table-the eighth-years for comfort, the seventh-years to be nearer their older friends-where the first-years usually sat. Marcy jumped at his voice, then looked up into his face.

"H-Har-Harry P-Potter?" she stammered.

"Yes, I'm Harry Potter," he said kindly. "Would you like potatoes?"

She nodded limply, taking the bowl with hands that shook.

Ron started laughing at her terrified look. Hermione kicked him, for which Harry would be eternally grateful.

"Did you really kill You-Know-Who?" one of the first-years asked eagerly.

"Yes," Harry said.

The first-years all gasped, looking impressed. "Right here?" one of them whispered.

"Not right here, no . . . let's see . . . it was between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, or thereabouts, right?"

"Actually, it was about halfway down the old Hufflepuff table," Hermione said.

"Old table?" John, another first year, asked.

"The House tables were all destroyed in the battle," Hermione explained. "These are the new tables."

"I thought there weren't as many dents," Ron said sheepishly.

"That's because there aren't, Ronniekins," Hermione said dryly. Harry started laughing at the look on Ron's face.

At the end of the feast, when the last morsels of dessert had melted away, McGonagall stood.

"Over the past year," she began, "we have experienced hardship. We have seen our friends die. We have been tortured and fractured-but we have never been broken.

"You older students will remember last year, the terror and palpable evil that seized the school. You will remember the Inquisitorial Squad"-here her nostrils flared, and the contempt in her voice was obvious-"and the Death Eaters that ran the school. You will remember the despair that clogged the halls.

"This year will be different.

"Madam Pomfrey and a Healer from St. Mungo's will be able to help with lingering effects, both physical and psychological. Each teacher has been screened to ensure your safety.

"This year we have several staffing changes, most of which have come about as a result of last year's casualties." She took a deep breath. "Professor Trelawney will be the only Divination teacher, following Firenze's death. The Potions professor this year will be Professor Hawthorn, following the death of former Potions professor and Headmaster Severus Snape. On a related note, Professor Vector will be the Slytherin Head of House.

"The new Transfiguration professor will be Professor Lupin-"

"Yes!" the fifth-, sixth-, seventh-, and eighth-years, all of whom had been at Hogwarts during his first term as teacher, shouted, the werewolf problem having been temporarily forgotten.

"Yes, well," McGonagall said, amused. "The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will be Professor Lupin-though, to avoid confusion, she has been asked to be called Professor Tonks."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other in stunned silence. Never had they been told Harry's godson's parents (did that mean they were his godparents? He'd figure that out later) would be teaching.

_Huh. I guess they wanted it to be a surprise,_ Harry thought absently.

". . . and the Muggle Studies teacher will be Professor Kinglon.

"Prefects, if you would escort the first years to your common rooms? Miss Granger, Mister Creevey, if you would meet me in my office?"

"Password's 'wallaby'," Hermione told Harry and Ron. "I'll meet you up there later-tennish?"

Harry and Ron nodded. "All right, squirts," Ron began. Hermione elbowed him.

"What Ron's trying to say top you all," Harry told them, "is to follow us. Do your best to remember the paths and the password."

Harry and Ron led a parade of yawning first-years up seven floors. Even with their shortcuts, several of which had previously been known only to the three of them, it took them nearly ten minutes. Ginny and another boy in her year-Michael-something, Harry was fairly sure-brought up the rear, making sure nobody fell behind or got lost.

Harry and Ron stopped dead at the sight of Fred's memorial plaque. They stared at it.

"Boys, what's the-?" Ginny began, stopping dead at the sight of the plaque, just as her brother and ex-boyfriend had. She gripped Ron's and Harry's hands tightly.

"Mitchell," Ginny called. "Password's wallaby. Get them up there." He voice cracked.

"Sure thing, Ginny," Mitchell said. "Come on, you lot, give them a moment alone. . . ."

Strictly speaking, it was not a memorial plaque only to Fred. It was a plaque to everyone who had died on that floor-every story had one, they knew, since casualties had been so high, and the grounds had a statue.

It was just that Fred had been the one chosen for the cameo.

Harry pulled Ginny to his chest and hugged her when he felt her shaking with silent sobs. Ron soon hugged her, too, which ended up in an awkward three-way hug.

Ginny was sobbing; Ron was crying silently; Harry let a few tears fall. At last, Ginny pulled away. "We should-should get going," she said.

"You sure?" Harry asked her softly. She nodded. Holding both boys' hands like a small child, she made her way to the Tower with a heavy heart.

* * *

Hermione, meanwhile, was talking with McGonagall and Colin Creevey. They set up the Hogsmeade weekends and made plans for another Yule Ball, which McGonagall claimed would raise morale. ("Among the girls," Colin scoffed. "Balls are a nightmare for boys.")

"All right. The next meeting will be in a week. You two, go back to the Tower."

* * *

"AAH!" Harry screamed, his yells mingling with Ron's. They both sat up, pouring sweat.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Dean asked anxiously.

"Who's getting tortured and why?" Seamus added, poking his head out of the bed hangings.

"Harry and Ron because of nightmares," Neville said from behind his own curtains. "Go back to sleep."

"What was yours about?" Harry asked Ron.

"Malfoys' place. Yours?"

"Same."

"I won't be able to sleep."

"Me neither."

"Pull a Hermione?"

"Might as well."

Harry and Ron pulled on their dressing gowns and pushed their feet into slippers, grabbing their schoolbooks on their way down to the common room. They sat at a table placed right in front of the fire. For the next two hours, all that could be heard were flicking of pages and the occasional murmured, "Can you believe this stuff?"

Ron was the first to be sufficiently calm. He headed back up to the dorms to try to sleep before classes started the next day-or that day, rather, Harry realized as he looked at the clock. Its hands were splayed awkwardly, displaying an equally awkward time: 4:38 in the morning.

Harry groaned and realized there was no way he would get any sleep that night, so, deciding to make the best of a bad situation, he pulled out his History text. He could sleep in that class and still know the material.

* * *

"Harry? Ron?" Hermione asked.

"Hermione? You look . . ." Ron trailed off.

"I know," she said, wiping the gunk from the corner of her eye. "I can't take this . . . do you mind if I bunk with you two?"

"We'll have to expand the bed," Harry pointed out.

"Sure," Ron said. "'Course you can sleep with us, Hermione."

"What would I do without you?" she whispered, hugging them both. "Should we get down to breakfast?"

"Might as well." Throwing their arms around each other, the threesome headed down to eat. breakfast passed in its usual fashion.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger," McGonagall said. "Here are your schedules."

"How'd you guys make out?" Harry asked.

"Divination first-that won't be so bad," Ron said hopefully.

"Ancient Runes," Hermione said. "That'll be easy, at least."

"Yeah. Easy," Ron said sarcastically.

"Ron, I translated the original _Tales_ last year, in case you've forgotten-"

"Easy, Hermione," Harry said hastily. "Ron just meant that he has no idea how you can take that class."

"Oh," she said. "Sorry, no sleep."

"Me neither," Harry commiserated. "What do you have next?"

"Potions," Ron said.

"Same," Harry replied.

"Me, too. We'll be able to see how Hawthorn teaches, at least," Hermione said optimistically.

"Anyone's better than Snape," Ron said glumly.

"Don't say that, Ron," Harry groaned. "She could be another Umbridge."

"Nah," Ron said dismissively. "No cosmic force is that cruel."

"Don't be so sure," Hermione said darkly.

"Anyway, what do you have next, Harry?

"Double Transfiguration," Harry groaned.

"We all have that," Hermione said absently, pulling her long hair in front of her shoulders and starting to weave it into two braids. "I heard McGonagall talking last night-they have so few students taking it they have all the seventh- and eighth-year students taking it the same period."

"Slytherins included?" Ron asked, aghast.

"You know, Ron, maybe we should make peace with them," Hermione suggested.

"With those snakes? Not a chance," Ron responded promptly. Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Harry beat her to the punch.

"Where would our friendship be if I was in Slytherin, Ron?" he asked. When Ron looked at him with his mouth open, Harry continued, "I talked the Sorting Hat out of putting me in there, after all."

"WHAT!" Ron shrieked.

"Relax, Ron, it doesn't change who I am," Harry said impatiently. "Just-don't start any fights, okay? I've already lived through one war, I don't want to start another."

"Fine," he said sulkily. "But if they attack me-!"

"We'll back you up," Harry answered. "If they want to go a round with the three people who destroyed Voldemort, let them try."

Ron grinned at him. "Cheers, Harry!"

"Oh! We'll be late!" Hermione exclaimed. "You two, pay attention in your classes, all right? Don't try to get by on your leeway."

"Yes, Mum," Ron said sarcastically. Hermione scowled at him and hurried off.

"C'mon, Ron. Let's get going," she heard Harry say to Ron. "Let's not be late the first day."

Hermione smiled. She was finally rubbing off on him!

She walked into her Ancient Runes class with a smile on her face.

"Now, class," the teacher, Professor Babbling, began, "today we will start out with an easy translation, just to see how much you have retained." She handed out the papers. Hermione took one and translated with her usual eagerness.

She was done with the short story before Babbling reached the other side of the room. "Excuse me, Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?" she asked, smiling at her student.

"Would you like these turned in?"

"Are you already done?" she asked in surprise.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well-that is to say, I-yes. Hand them in on the front desk."

Hermione, bored, took out a piece of parchment and began to sketch a scene from the Final battle. As she always did when doing such things, she let her mind wander over what had happened that day, feeling flashes of sorrow and joy as she remembered each thing.

Smoke filled her nose and eyes. A flash of green light caught her attention, and she ducked and rolled,m spelling a block as she did so-

"Mis Granger! What is the meaning of this?" Babbling's shrill voice demanded.

_What? She wasn't-oh. Damn._

"Er," Hermione said awkwardly from beneath the desk of the boy next to her (who still hadn't finished). "Sorry."

"As well you should be," Babbling said. "What were you doing?"

"Sorry," Hermione said again. "I thought-well-I fought in this room, last June, and-I just lost track-"

"Flashback. I see. Go down to Madam Pomfrey and get a Calming Draught."

"I don't need-" Hermione began, then stopped when she felt her hand shaking. "Actually, yes. That's exactly what I'll do."

* * *

"Mental," Ron muttered.

"Yeah. Come on, let's get going." Ron and Harry went up to Divination, taking their time so they wouldn't be caught in a room with no teacher to divert questions. They lingered jst outside the trapdoor, finally ascending when the bell rang.

Ron stopped when he saw Trelawney. His head filled with visions of her throwing crystal balls at the attacking Death Eaters dressed only in her nightie and felt himself begin to smile. Looking at Harry, he saw his friend's lips twitching, too.

"Good morning, class," Trelawney said in her usual mystical tones. "I see you have all returned-as, of course, I knew you would. . . ."

Ron and Harry rolled their eyes at each other, sinking down into poufs that let puffs of dust into the air at the sudden weight.

Trelawney continued to lecture about crystal balls, and Harry and Ron found themselves struggling to hide smiles. They carefully avoided one another's gaze, knowing that if their eyes met, they would start laughing and not be able to stop for a good long while. Trelawney, luckily, never looked their way.

"Now, if you will try gazing into the orb . . . we shall see if any of your Sights have matured . . . yes . . ."

Harry and Ron rolled their eyes at each other, smiling as they stared at the ball between them. Slowly, though, their smiles faded.

"See anything," Harry murmured, more a command than a question.

"I can't. You?"

"Not a thing." They flashed each other quick grins, then went back to making it look like they were trying-harder than it looked.

"Mr. Potter. Do you see nothing?" Trelawney asked, sounding more disappointed than either of them had expected. "If you did not expect to see anything," she continued at his shake of the head, "why are you in this class?"

Harry stopped at that. He had dropped Divination last year. His smile slid off his face like Stinksap; looking at Ron, he saw that his friend's had, too.

* * *

"How was your first class, Hermione?" Ron asked when they met up for Potions.

"Horrid," Hermione said glumly, and Ron and Harry traded shocked glances. "I had to get a Calming Draught from Pomfrey not even halfway through the class."

"Why?" both boys chorused.

Hermione grimaced. "Flashback."

"Oh," Ron said. "Sorry. You want to talk about it?"

"Same as they all are, really," Hermione said sadly. "So many people died . . ."

Ron put his arm around her shoulder. "We never fought down here," he told her. "Don't worry about this class!"

"I won't, Ron. Thanks," she replied, smiling up at him, then shaking her head.. "You've gotten even taller, I think. How is that possible?" she asked in amazement.

"He's a mutant," Harry said wryly.

"Oy!" Ron said indignantly just as the bell rang and Hawthorn swept in.

"This," she said, "is NEWT-level Potions. You all should be good enough to brew this potion. You have the period and you will work with the others at your table. Go."

"Doesn't waste time, does she?" Harry asked wryly. "Hermione, can you get the ingredients we don't have while Ron and I set up?"

"Sure, Harry," she answered, hurrying off. Ron started unpacking the ingredients while Harry read through the instructions.

"Got it yet, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"We made this before, actually," Harry said, recognizing the unlabeled potion. "It's the potion you used with essence of dittany when my arm got mangled last year."

"Is it really?" Hermione asked.

"Yep," Harry said, hiding a smile.

"Well, this should be easy, then," she said. "Ron, can you start slicing up the Venomous Tentacula root? Harry, why don't you start grinding the beetle eyes?"

"On it," the boys said together.

By the end of the period, they had produced a reasonable potion. It was the proper color and thickness, and it gave off the right smell. Malfoy's was the color of unhardened cement, Harry saw with glee, and Ernie MacMillan's was bright pink instead of emerald green.

Hawthorn came around, critiquing each potion as she got to it. Most people's potions she gave a pass, even if they weren't perfect. Malfoy's she failed.

At last she came to Harry, Ron, and Hermione's potion. She looked at it with an inscrutable expression for a moment before changing her focus to the three friends. "Where did you get this potion?" she asked.

"We made it," Hermione said, sounding as if she was fishing for what Hawthorn wanted to hear.

Unfortunately, her confusion was misconstrued. "Did you, Miss . . . Granger, is it? And what did you make it from?"

"What's on the board," she said, more sure of herself now.

"Miss Granger, you expect me to believe you made this potion on your own?"

"Yes, ma'am, we did."

"Nobody has ever made that potion on their first try," Hawthorn snapped. "Where did you get it from?"

"Professor, we made it on our own," Harry protested.

"Mister Potter, I was not talking to you. Detention tonight. Now, I know you did not make this yourself, so I am forced to ask again: from where did you procure this potion?"

"We made it," Ron said.

"I doubt that, Mr. . . . Weasley, correct?" Ron nodded. "I highly doubt three unschooled wizards made this on their own, Mr. Weasley. Where did you get it?"

"We told you, we made it!" Hermione said. "We've made it before."

"Have you, now? And why would you need to?"

"I was attacked by a snake and it took out a good chunk of my arm," Harry supplied. "If Hermione hadn't had this potion and essence of dittany, I would have bled out."

"And where did this happen, Mr. Potter?"

"Godric's Hollow, ma'am. Bathilda Bagshot's house."

"And why would Bathilda Bagshot have a snake?"

"She was dead before we got there, ma'am. Voldemort used his snake to possess her, knowing I would have to go there eventually."_ Where was the bell? _Harry wondered desperately.

"And why would you have to go there eventually, Potter?" she asked.

"Sorry, ma'am, we can't tell you," Hermione jumped in.

"And why not?" she hissed.

Ron replied, "It's safer. Safer for us, safer for you-safer for everyone if the reason is completely forgotten."

"A week's detention to all of you," Hawthorn said crisply.

"Why?" Hermione gasped, shocked.

"For cheek."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but the bell rang just then. Ron picked up his cane from the floor. Hermione began packing away the ingredients. Harry returned the school ingredients to the storage cupboard.

When the three were safely out of Hawthorn's earshot, they let loose their complaints. Even Ernie agreed that the detentions were completely unfair.

With Ron's leg, they were late to Transfiguration. Harry and Hermione refused to go ahead of him-even now, they were paranoid about leaving one of their number on their own-and they figured, since Remus knew about Ron's leg, he'd give them a pass. They continued at a snail's pace once they realized that.

"Hello," Remus said when they entered the classroom. "How have you three been?"

"Better. You?" Ron asked, panting. Harry lifted the bag from his shoulders, earning a grateful look from his friend.

"Same. Sit down, please." When they had, Remus continued, "How many of you were in the battle last June?"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Ernie, Malfoy, Colin, Hannah, Luna, Cho, Zacharias, and Susan all raised their hands.

"Anyone else?" Remus asked lightly. "No? Well, can any of you who were fighting tell me what types of Transfiguration were used?"

"McGonagall gave the chairs legs," Ron volunteered. "They started whacking the Death Eaters-that was kind of funny."

"The sixth floor was turned into ice," Hermione added. "The Death Eaters couldn't stay upright. The people fighting there turned their boots into ice skates and got off. The Death Eaters were sitting ducks."

"You all weren't here for this," Harry said, "but Voldemort and his Death Eaters had Transfigured a tree into a fence, and branches of another tree into ropes to bind people to the trunks."

"Anyone else?" Remus asked.

"Are we talking about the Final Battle, or the war in general?" Hermione asked.

"I take it you've seen other examples of Transfiguration, Hermione?" Remus asked. "Used as part of a battle, but not in the Final Battle?"

Hermione nodded, then looked at Harry and Ron questioningly. They nodded at her.

"In the Ministry," Hermione said, "when we broke in-"

"You broke into the Ministry?" Ernie gasped.

"Yes, we did, and we're very lucky we didn't all get killed," Hermione said impatiently. "Mind you, we never did make it back to our hideout."

"And Kreacher got killed," Harry said sadly. He had _liked_ the elf once he had made him an ally.

"Many people died," Remus said. "Anyway, Hermione-in the Ministry?"

"The 'Aurors' were Transfiguring their features so they couldn't be recognized," Hermione replied. "And we Transfigured ourselves to look like employees."

"Which spell did you use?" Remus asked. "I've heard of charms, but never spells."

"We used Polyjuice Potion," Hermione admitted.

"You brewed Polyjuice Potion? And it _worked​?_" Remus asked in disbelief.

"It was harder when we first tried to brew it-how long ago was it now, six years?" she asked Harry.

"Something like that," Harry agreed.

"Six years?" Remus asked n disbelief. "You brewed Polyjuice Potion when you were in s_econd year_?"

"Yes," Ron said matter-of-factly.

"Right. Well. Those are all good examples," Remus said. "Transfiguration can be used for many things . . ."

When the bell to end the double period rang, Harry picked up Ron's bag without a word. "Pomfrey?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah," Ron said, his teeth clenched. "These stairs are killing me. I can't wait until I'm healed." Hermione and Harry shared a look, but neither reminded him he was unlikely to ever heal.

When they finally reached the Great Hall, Ron dropped onto a bench. "I am starving," he breathed, pulling a platter of roast chicken toward him and putting half of it on his plate. Harry and Hermione shared disbelieving looks, but said nothing.

"Whdwe afafthis?" Ron said around a mouthful of food.

"Ron, don't talk with your mouth full," Hermione said absently. "And we have Charms next?"

Ginny shook her head. "Hermione, don't tell me you can actually understand him," she said in disbelief.

"Of course I can," she said, looking at her beau with a fond smile. "Can you not?"

"Ex-excuse me, Mr. potter? Miss Granger? Mr. and Miss Weasley?"

"What?" Hermione said in surprise, turning around to meet the scared gaze of a first-year. "How can we help you, sweetie?" she asked, slipping unthinkingly into counselor-mode and calling every child 'Sweetie' or 'Honey'. (She had been a counselor at a county-sponsored summer camp that summer for a few weeks that summer.)

"Can-can I have your au-autographs?" she stammered.

"Er," Harry said awkwardly. "Sure." He took the photo and signed it.

"What's your name?" Hermione asked the girl.

"Su-Susie Hammer," she said nervously.

"What house are you in, Susie?" Hermione asked her kindly.

"Slytherin," she said, her voice squeaking a little.

Ron choked. "Slytherin?" he demanded, turning red.

"Ronald Weasley," Hermione scolded. "You are a Prefect. Do you not think it's time to get rid of this stupid prejudice?"

"Yes, but-but-" he sputtered.

"Grow up, Ron," Ginny snapped, rolling her eyes.

"Geez, Ron," Harry grumbled. "Seriously. Just sign the damn paper."

"Fine," Ron mumbled. "Sorry-er-Susie, is it? I was raised to hate all Slytherins, that's all, just as most Slytherins were raised to hate all Gryffindors."

"And now it's time to grow up and move on," Hermione finished.

"Right. Sorry again," Ron said awkwardly.

When Hermione had signed the paper with a flourish and Susie had gone back to the Slytherin table, Hermione said, "Bets on how long it'll be before an older student hexes her?"

"Nah," Harry said dismissively. "I think Slytherins stick together, even if they don't agree. Kind of something they have to do, don't you think?"

Hermione said, "I suppose so. Anyway, shall we get to Charms?"

* * *

"Welcome to NEWT-level Charms," tiny Professor Flitwick squeaked from atop his usual mound of books. "next year, you will have moved out into the real world and started living as adults. Thus, we will begin practical Charms this year.

"This year, there will be householdy charms you will be expected to perform as well as charms that are good for protecting yourself. This year, we will be performing all spells silently."

Ron groaned. Hermione and Harry, sitting on either side of him, each threw an elbow into his side. Ron was sandwiched between them and muttered, "Ow."

"Really, Ron, we did all our security spells soundless in the last part of last year," Hermione said huffily.

"The cooking spells were soundless, too," Harry reminded him.

* * *

"Thank God for free periods," Ron moaned, sinking into a chair by the fire and stretching his leg out onto the table.

"Hermione, if you go enlarge the bed, I'll work with Ron," Harry offered. Hermione vanished up the boys' stairs as Harry moved to the table.

"We have homework we need to do soon, Ron," Harry said. "We can't leave it to the last minute this year."

"I know," Ron said. "Oh! That feels good, Harry," he added.

Harry grinned up at him from where he had pulled out Ron's lotion and was kneading it into the mangled leg. "You say that every time," he reminded his friend.

"Because it's always true."

"Done!" Hermione said triumphantly. "It's big enough for the three of us now."

"Cool!" Ron said happily. "Wow, Harry, you're really good at this."

"I know," he said.

"Don't get smug with me," Ron said in mock irritation.

"I'll take whatever tone I want to! You're not your mother!" Harry retorted.

Ron snorted. "True."

"Really, boys," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "All right, let's start with Charms work."


End file.
